Page 109 of The Dandelion Princess
The most notable name is Valdemar Stennum, a possible match to ‘VS’ in Edward’s texts. Valdemar is the younger brother of Sondish Petroleum CEO, Anker Stennum. I know him well. For the next hour, I keep my head down, doing more digital footwork, digging into social media accounts until it becomes so complicated that the sticky notes spread out on the table start to look conspiratorial. I uncover a report he submitted to Parliament proposing drilling in the wildlife reserve near Max’s cottage. He authored a press release for Sondish Petroleum’s new government contract—just before environmental activists flooded the company parking lot and planted marsh grass in protest.
Torbald and Stennum.
I think about what I know about the prime minister. His wife comes from old money, but I double-check his address, bringing up the street view. Yes, the family home is relatively modest, all things considered, and I calculate the projected sale price and what kind of income it would take to sustain a place of that size. This is the kind of math they teach you at Saint Sissela’s.
I do a mental sum of his expenses, including tuition bills, voice and dance lessons, and family vacations. It’s close, but there might be shortfalls. Perhaps Torbald’s corruption is as simple as accepting bribes from business leaders for access. Or maybe he’s having an affair?
My finger scrolls back and forth on a photo of him walking his girls to school. I zoom in on his happy face and strong grip. Something feels off. For all his faults, Torbald is a family man.
I stand on a dining room chair, trying to make sense of the explosion of information spread across the table in the fewshort hours left before the press conference. Being a government official doesn’t pay extravagantly, but connections are made and palms are greased. Egos become inflated.
I can see a number of avenues for corruption, but I can’t bug a private dining room. There’s only so much information I can lock down before I outrun my luck and get myself caught. Do I have enough to spook him away from going after my family?
I begin synthesizing the information into an iron-clad timeline, looking for ways to use rock-solid information to make it appear as though I have the whole story, when my phone buzzes.
Marc. “Turn on the news.”
My stomach slithers. Has the story of my online activities leaked ahead of schedule?
The computer screen showsNeerHjefdal sitting on an upright kitchen chair across from a man sprawled in a massive beanbag, a riot of framed art over his shoulder. Is that—I lean closer—Linus? Dragonslayer2? He has my secrets, that little worm. I trusted him.
NeerHjefdal is using his hard news voice. “You’re telling me that your online persona—”
“Avatar, my dude.” Linus straightens the nearest canvas.
“—is Trash Panda Princess?Youare the princess everyone is looking for?”
I drop into my chair with a thump. Linus is not exposing me. He’s providing cover.
“Yep.” He grins. “I’m your Cinderella. My job is to inspire the worthy to perform noble sacrifice.” I recognize the words of Staggering_Indifference, tossed off so casually. “Anyway, reality is a construct, my dude.”
NeerHjefdal declines to fact-check the metaphysics of that. “Rumors spread that the identity of the person who leaked Hereditary Grand Duke Pietor of Himmelstein’s affair—thescandal that turned Sondmark on its head last month—might trace back to Princess Alma herself, another senior member of the royal family, or a notable public figure. Can you explain how you gained access to the photos?”
“First off, Iamnotable. You can catch my art at the Aunslev Public House on the north side of the village, a couple of kilometers from the ring road right now. They acquired a piece I made featuring Queen Helena.” He leans into the microphone. “The bottle caps were ethically-sourced. Second of all, I admit it wasn’t cool, messing with my sister’s phone but, like, I lost the remote and needed to download an app. It’s not my fault she had that stuff on there.”
“And your sister is?”
“She works for the man up at the palace.”
“The man? She works for the royal household?”
“That’s what I said. She had this folder on her phone and I put two-and-two together.” He waves a hand. “It’s not like I broke them up. People can blame me all day because the economic treaties are in peril or whatever, but a hereditary grand duke who couldn’t keep his hands to himself was never going to bag a hottie like Alma.”
“Never?”NeerHjefdal follows his subject right off a cliff. “How do you know?”
Linus cocks his head at the newsreader’s ignorance. I swear he was—within the range of a turtle-dad—completely normal. Nothing like the California surfer persona he’s serving now. “The guy from Vorburg—Crown Prince Jacob—he’s a Scorpio. You can see him practically panting on his knees when she walks into a room. You think a guy like that is going to let a cute little Leo pass on by just because a Libra placed dibs? Think again.”
BlessNeerHjefdal. He’s fighting for his life.
“You broke into your sister’s private files pertaining to sensitive royal matters and uploaded it to a popular internet forum. What did you hope to accomplish with your actions?”
“I’m no monarchist. As a matter of fact, those people can—”
A crash is heard from an adjoining room, startling both interviewer and guest, but they soon shake it off and resume their discussion.
“It’s lame the princess had to hide her break-up just so some unionists wouldn’t freak out. It’s lame Torbald is trying to dig up something about my avatar and pin it on a princess.” Linus’s gaze flicks away and back, like he’s scared of something over Hjefdal’s shoulder. “And, while we’re at it, it’s kinda lame of a prime minister to be harassing Freja for locking down her man, you know?”
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